


the season of grace coming out from the void

by orphan_account



Category: Clover
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:24:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the season of bowing our heads in the wind, and knowing we are not alone in fear, not alone in the dark</p>
            </blockquote>





	the season of grace coming out from the void

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pengie (pengiesama)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pengiesama/gifts).



> The title &amp; summary are from The Atheist Christmas Carol by Vienna Teng.

Ran stared out the large window to the lights floating through the night. Car lights, street lights, as well as a new addition He'd always watched them, and the outside world with a sense of faint, restrained awe, but these were new. There were strains of little bulbs in the blank, metallic trees and up the street lamps . The lamplighter had already come when the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the echoes of blues and maroon, gold and black in its wake.

People held to a custom without even knowing it. Some sort of enthusiasm came over them. Ran didn't understand. Gingetsu came behind him, as quiet as a breath released.

"What are they celebrating?" Ran asked.

"Life through the cold. Life in general," Gingetsu said.

Ran looked up. "Was it that bad before?"

"We only have records, and those aren't complete. From what I had read, it used to be very harsh and cold. They had much more to lose."

What had it been like then? A place with real birds, instead of the kinds they had now which now were little more than metallic dolls with inside workings that produced song and flight. He remembered his brothers, the cage, and the glimpses of a life outside with happy people living foreign, far off lives.

"I'm glad to be alive," Ran said softly.

_And with you_.

Gingetsu nodded.

Ran let his hand rest against the windowsill and Gingetsu, without a word, let his own rest over it.

It must have been a cold, unloving world back then. But they had birds, they must have had some hope through whatever hardships had forged them and in the end, broken them.

Gingetsu smelled of pine and forests and secrets kept quiet, never quite said. Like snow and myths of old, but most of all, Gingetsu smelled like home.

His home.

His.


End file.
